Lifeblood
by bitchinblackframedglasses
Summary: The life of one, forgotten woman, dying in the hospital, is forever changed when an unexpected visitor, a vampire, comes to her room. A negotiation ensues: he can end her life peacefully, and her blood is his dinner. Vampire!Sherlock; Vampire!John Rated T for blood.
1. Chapter 1

It was very late at night, but Laura couldn't sleep. She thought that she would have gotten used to the beeping of hospital machines by now and the squeaking of carts and gurneys going down the hallway, but every sound kept her awake. Laura was in the terminal wing of Moriarty Hospital dying of leukemia; she'd been there for almost a year. She hated it there, even though the staff provided the best service in all of London. She was dying, dying with no end in sight, and she had no family or friends to speak of. If she did, she would petition them to get her discharged from the hospital as quickly as possible. Without them, she was stuck there, stuck in a never ending world of death and pain. She dreamed of a world where she could sit outside in the sun and listen to the birds. She dreamed of the country, of solitude, and of a peaceful death at the end. In the hospital, the staff worked tirelessly at a hopeless cause to keep her alive.

That's why Laura was awake at two in the morning, listening to the sounds of the hospital around her. The squeak of a nurse's tennis shoes going down the laminated hallways, the dull chatter of nurses at their station, the beeps and whirrs coming from other patient's machines; Laura could hear it all. Then, she heard a new sound. Light, fleeting footsteps moved by her window, and the barely audible brush of the curtain reached her ears. "Who's there?" She whispered, and there was a pause of silence.

"A business man," a low, smooth voice replied from the corner. It relaxed her as well as it gave her chills.

"What business could you possibly have with me, a dying woman?" Laura asked, only curious, not bitter. The low voice chuckled softly.

"That is my reason for being here. You and I each want something, and we can help each other. Usually, I take without negotiation, but, then again, very few people hear me coming." The deep voice admitted. It sounded elegant, as if from another century.

"What could you want from me?" Laura repeated, and the voice let out a sigh.

"I am a vampire, and your blood is my sustenance." The man's voice was calm, almost uncaring as it spoke. Laura felt her brows come down in a frown. _What? _"It is very easy for you to not believe me, as the idea of a vampire has become more fiction than fact, but I am a vampire." He spoke almost briskly now, and Laura, for some reason, decided to play along. What did it matter if this man thought he was a vampire? He was probably just an escapee from the psychiatric ward and nothing more. Besides, this was the most fun she'd had in almost a year.

"Alright, then. You're a vampire, you want my blood. What do I get in return?" Laura questioned, and the voice chuckled again, the sound intoxicating. There was something different about that low baritone, she decided. His voice was more than just attractive.

"Freedom. You have been here for almost a year, your death drawn out and prolonged until it has become a torture. I can free you from this place, from life, very quickly. My process is almost painless." This man laid out a very convincing argument and Laura laid her head back further into her pillows, thinking. His words were sobering, but true. Life had no meaning when she was cooped up, kept alive by artificial drugs and machines. Her daydreams of freedom were interrupted by her sudden realization of how absurd this all was, and she laughed softly.

"I'm negotiating my life with you on the grounds that you are a vampire. Surely you must know that I can't believe you," Laura told him.

"Perhaps I can convince you another way. May I turn on the light?" He requested politely, and Laura shrugged.

"I suppose so," she granted permission, and not a second later, the light was flicked on. She turned her head to look at the light switch, and her breath caught in her throat. Standing there, one long finger still on the switch, was a man. He was tall, pale, and thin- all long lines and angles. His stark white skin, smooth and flawless, seemed to be elegantly stretched to stay over his bones- especially his cheekbones. High and proud, they angled his face in the most beautiful of ways. He had a head of curly brown hair, and was clean shaven. Dressed in a very expensive and crisp looking suit, he watched her expectantly, curiously, as if he expected a different reaction. His eyes drew a lot of her attention, being the black color they were, but his mouth garnered her greatest attention. Laura knew that behind those perfectly sculpted lips there were, if he really was a vampire, fangs. He looked ethereal, even in the dim, yellowy lighting of the hospital, and that made her decision. Before, he very easily could have been a man dressed up, with contacts and acting lessons. However, the very essence of that man told her that he really wasn't a man, not at all. "I guess you really are a vampire after all," She noted finally, and an odd look crossed his face, his finger leaving the light switch.

"The truth is right in front of you and you are still not afraid." He murmured, half to himself.

"If you really are a vampire then I guess we really are negotiating," Laura realized, half to herself as well. The two of them stared at one another for a moment. "I guess introductions are in order then- unless you'd prefer not to," Laura said, an odd thought striking her. If she was a vampire, would she want to know the names of the people she killed? To her surprise, the vampire cracked an amused smile.

"I have no objections to introductions. Would you like to sit up?" He suggested.

"Please," Laura agreed, starting to push herself up with shaking arms. In an instant, two ice cold but gentle hands helped to prop her upright. Then, the vampire took the almost unused chair from the corner of the room and effortlessly moved it to the side of her bed, sitting gracefully and with a speed she couldn't follow. Reclining properly, Laura could get a better look at the vampire. Even though she'd seen him already, she saw something new that already fascinated her every second. "Laura," she introduced herself, extending a trembling hand (not from fear, but from illness) for him to shake. A smile tugging at the edge of his lip, the vampire extended his hand.

"Sherlock," he told her as their hands met. To him, her skin was warm, but not as warm as a normal human- she _was _dying. To her, his skin was like that of someone who was already dead- ice cold and pale.

"I know that you are probably very busy and have things to do, but I have a few questions- if that's alright," Laura said quietly after they'd let go. Sherlock leaned back in his chair, looking politely curious.

"No, please," he said, gesturing lightly with his hand. "You are a first for me and although I need blood to live it will be almost a shame to kill you." His eyes, that deep black color, seemed to swirl with concealed emotion.

"Well- I have a concern, first off. I don't know if you've looked at my chart, but I have leukemia. My blood is diseased, poisoned. Surely drinking it would kill you too," Laura told him, gathering her courage to continue speaking artlessly, as if this really was a business deal. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"You care if I die or not," he stated, a question in his tone. Laura shrugged.

"You're putting an awful lot of thought and care into letting me die peacefully," she pointed out, and Sherlock's lip twitched in amusement.

"Your concern is appreciated, but no, to a vampire, blood is blood. In fact, I prefer to 'prey on' those who are ill, who are dying. If they are already marked for death, perhaps killing them is less than a sin than killing someone healthy," his tone was light, uncaring, but the philosophy, the caring behind his words made Laura speechless for a moment.

"Secondly, are you Sherlock _Holmes? _The detective from the 1800's?" She questioned, and he gave her a wry smile.

"Yes," he answered simply, and she gave a little laugh of surprise, studying him just as carefully as he was studying her.

"I'm sorry- it's just that you've come so far, seen so much. The _time_ you have- I don't even know what to think," She told him in awe, mentally flipping over the pros and cons of living forever. It scared her and stimulated her imagination at the same time. When Sherlock said nothing, his face settling back to a façade, a new thought crossed her mind. "Did your partner, Doctor Watson, did he…die?" She asked, and the smile returned.

"No. He was turned, as I was." He informed her, and his eyebrow rose again in surprise as she visibly relaxed.

"It's good that you aren't alone," she explained, noting his silent question. Sherlock openly stared at her, confusion behind that elegant mask. This was the first human he had met that wasn't afraid and that treated him like he was still a normal, human being. That type of kindness, right off the bat, took him off guard. "Well," Laura said after a moment, looking at her hands, "how would you like to do this?" She asked only when her conviction had returned. Never in a million years could she have thought that this strange opportunity could come to her, and now that it had, she knew that this was the way she wanted to die.

"Hmm," Sherlock mused, bringing his fingertips to his chin in a pose similar to prayer as he judged her. "Would you mind if I took your IV out?" He asked after a moment. "The medicine will not affect me, but it does leave a particularly bad aftertaste," he stated plainly, and Laura laughed softly, offering up the arm where the IV was taped to. Cold, gentle fingers that moved with practiced ease supported her arm, undid the tapes, and then slid out the needle. He shut the flow of the IV so that it wouldn't leak as he simultaneously bent her arm to stop the bleeding. She curiously complied, sure that he would have proceeded to suck out her blood from the already conveniently provided hole. At the scent of her blood, his posture had tightened a bit, but he hadn't immediately brandished his fangs and offed her. His control made her curious all over again. "Now, where to bite?" Sherlock murmured to himself. "Usually, I have very little choice; as I stated before, you are the first to hear me and willingly go forward. It is a nice change, but one that I am not used to…" he trailed off, his penetrating gaze traveling over her.

"Oh," Laura said suddenly, a thought slamming into her head.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, nothing but patience in his tone. He sat on the edge of her bed, looking almost curious and eager. It was obvious that he liked the discussion, the peaceful negotiation better than killing indiscriminately. He liked it that she wasn't afraid or repulsed by his presence. Her willing and gentle acceptance of just another form of death put him at ease and sparked his curiosity.

"Won't this leave an incriminating mark?" She asked, and Sherlock actually _smiled_ a full blown smile and she just got a view of his fangs. In a gentle smile, they didn't look frightening or dangerous at all. "It's not that I'll be able to mind, it's just-," She hastened to add, but Sherlock cut her off.

"You are strangely worried once again for my well-being, for the well-being of a vampire," He chuckled, clearly fascinated. "I will seal the wound- and even then- there is more fiction than fact in today's world about vampires. Even if the hospital performed an autopsy to find out how you died, no serious medical professional would believe that a vampire had drained you. There is no need to worry- no autopsy will be performed and no one will ever know. Over the past hundred years or so I have learned to be careful," he told her, amused, and Laura relaxed again. "May I?" he asked, gesturing towards her arm, and Laura gave him a nod. To her surprise, Sherlock simply licked the tip of his finger, as if to turn a page, and then swiped it on the crook of her arm that had been used for the IV.

Laura watched in wonderment as the pinprick vanished, newly healed skin taking its place. Sherlock then shifted so that he could pick up that arm. His hands were gentle but firm as he held her arm, sniffing delicately at the crook. "Where to bite?" he mused again, and she noticed how his eyes seemed darker with want. "The crook of the arm is a spot I have rarely ever chosen," he told her. "It is a more intimate spot- hard to get to if your victim is frightened and fighting back. Besides, a bite here will tap veins as well as arteries. Blood from veins will give sustenance, but fresh blood, oxygenated blood, always tastes better." He continued, gently placing her arm back onto the bed. "The neck, then; it is a stereotypical place to bite, but an efficient one. There is a clear shot to the carotid, and it is a strong artery; it carries a lot of blood that has just come from the heart. It is fresh," Sherlock leaned forward, cradling her neck in his hands, two fingers taking her pulse. He smiled almost sadly as her pulse stayed gentle and slow- Laura still held no fear. He tilted her head very gently to the side and sniffed there, the carnal urge inside him snarling. He could smell life- _blood. _Even though he could smell Laura's illness, the life still inside her overshadowed the death. "No, not there," Sherlock decided, leaning back so that Laura could turn to face him again. "That leaves the wrist," Sherlock's voice was softer now as he gently lifted her left wrist. "It is also a stereotypical place, but, again, it is also an efficient one. A good strong artery. Technically, the blood is not as fresh as if it had come from the carotid, but when it comes to biting, the more blood to be released, the better." He raised his eyes to find Laura watching him calmly, interested by his monologue.

A moment passed- Laura calmly waiting and Sherlock…he wasn't sure why he was pausing. Taking lives was a daily necessity for him- he was used to it. He had no reservations, especially because of how carefully he selected his victims. He'd tried living first just off of animals, and then off of blood donated to hospitals, but it was impossible to survive on substitutes alone. While blood was still blood, vampires were made to drink live, human blood and nothing else. Still, something inside him hated the idea of killing the young woman named Laura who was dying of leukemia. In the grand scheme of the world, she meant nothing. Her life was worthless- and yet, to him, it mattered. Her kindness mattered. Shoving the sentiment aside, he politely asked, "Are you ready?"

Laura smiled, already feeling a sense of release, as sense of thankfulness. She was giving her life to the best possible scenario at the best possible time. Sherlock was a vampire, but he was one with a conscience. He was polite, patient, and most of all, willing to quell her few concerns before he dined. He was a gentleman, and more than deserving. "Please," she gave permission, gesturing to the hand he had in his grasp. Without further ado, Sherlock licked the inside of her wrist.

"Antiseptic," He said in almost an apologetic tone. "A painkiller as well." He lightly tapped the inside of her wrist, and Laura felt nothing. The area now numbed and clean, Sherlock leaned over and sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of her wrist. Laura offered no outward reaction besides a small gasp of surprise- the bite had barely hurt, but the feeling of something sucking on her was so odd. She relaxed further into her pillows, going boneless, as she watched Sherlock's bowed, curly head as he drank. He went at a slow pace, showing no signs of a feral nature that would have scared her. He made no mess (she couldn't feel any blood dripping off of her skin), and she started to feel the slow and gradual feeling of dying. It was peaceful, slow, just like she'd always dreamed of.

Laura closed her eyes, feeling the need to sleep and never wake up. She was starting to go numb all over- and it felt wonderful. All of a sudden, there was an added voice. "Sherlock, what are you _doing?" _The voice hissed, half panicked and half angry. The tugging sensation on her wrist stopped.

"What does it look like, John?" Sherlock's voice was sarcastic before he swooped back down and licked a rivulet of blood off of her arm before it could fall to the sheets.

"Sherlock, this is a hospital! It's forbidden, especially Moriarty's!" John swore angrily, and a low, sinister chuckle reached Laura's ears. She wasn't sure if she was dreaming or if what she was hearing was reality, but nonetheless she suddenly had a feeling of fright, of dread.

"How correct of you, Dr. Watson." A strangely feminine but definitely cold voice echoed into her room. "This is my hospital, and I take great offense to you sneaking in here and killing my patients. Is that the only reason you are here?" The voice claimed offense, but it was calm, uncaring. The name Moriarty seemed familiar, Laura realized. She was in Moriarty Hospital. Was it possible that the owner of the hospital was there? More ridiculous yet, could he be a vampire as well?

"I had to see for myself it's true- if Moriarty has turned to helping people instead of hurting them- and think of it this way- I am giving you more room to make more money. This woman was dying anyway. She agreed to this, and I have made no mess, caused no pain," Sherlock's voice mimicked Moriarty's bored tone. That icy voice chuckled and then cold skin touched her cheek, cupped her chin.

"People change, Sherlock. You've changed- become more patient, less wild. I've changed too; over the years I've found that it is easier to make your way in the world when there is the least resistance. It is more efficient for me to run a hospital- I have all the access I need to drugs and bodies, and that market is more than profitable. You see? Everyone wins," Moriarty explained with a type of glee that seemed to stem more from madness than happiness. There was a pause. "Hmmm, she's not quite dead, is she? Worse yet, she's not yet bled dry, either," Moriarty mused, and Laura heard someone stiffen. "Aha," he added softly when Laura's eyelids fluttered at his touch. "Should I clean up after your mess, Sherlock? Should I snap her neck now and keep things tidy?" Moriarty mused, and a hand slid around to the back of her head, as if in preparation to turn it sharply to snap her neck. Laura in her haze of dying, found herself not caring in the least. It wouldn't hurt and it would only speed up what was quickly becoming inevitable. Moriarty chuckled suddenly. "Dr. Watson, your beliefs betray your kind. The compassionate, caring doctor, aren't you? You'd rather try to save this miserable, dying human than do what is most efficient. How dull," Moriarty sounded like he was smirking, as if he found the current situation the exact opposite of dull.

"You are a trespasser on my property, and, worse yet, you decided to feed on a human that was on my property and, therefore, _is_ my property." Moriarty chuckled at his own play on words, his hand snaking down her neck and disappearing. "Normally, I would have you executed- the both of you. However, you are a great man, Sherlock Holmes. You pushed me towards death so that a vampire could make me live forever. You have a worthy mind, like mine. Seeing you perish would be a sad day indeed- you are a fun distraction. To ensure your survival, I'll only ask for one thing in return for damaging my goods," Laura, even as she was dying, could hear the smile in his voice. "Bond to her. Turn her. Raise her. You've refused to create a vampire since you were created over a hundred years ago. Do what you fear most- and you and Dr. Watson can live." Moriarty bargained, and she heard Sherlock hiss. Confusion and delirium was spreading through her mind, making it hard to process what was happening. Was Sherlock upset because he didn't want to 'change her'?

"Fine," He suddenly snapped, and hands scooped her up quickly, effortlessly. Without another word, she was moving, and quickly, the echo of a high pitched laugh echoing after them.

"Sherlock, you are an idiot," She heard John's voice say angrily as they moved. Were they running? Laura wasn't sure.

"Would you rather have died, John?" Sherlock snapped.

"No, I would rather that you didn't purposefully gather Moriarty's attention. Have you learned nothing after a hundred and ninety years?" John demanded. A door opened. She was deposited gently onto a different bed, one that wasn't hard and uncomfortable like that at the hospital.

"I've learned plenty, John." Sherlock shot back.

"What were you even doing there, anyway? Are you really stupid enough to feed while spying on Moriarty on his property?" John continued, a hand taking her pulse at her neck, noting how it was slow, faint, just little flutters instead of hard, sure beats. Laura was close to death.

"He's been silent for too long, John. He claims to have changed, but I know him better than that. You and I both know that he's planning something and that we are the two people left on this planet that can stop him!" Sherlock said angrily, and then- nothing. Everything ceased to exist for Laura. In reality, both Sherlock Holmes and John Watson both whirled to face the now corpse on the bed, instantly noting that they could no longer hear a heartbeat.

"It won't be long now," John said quickly, shutting the door. Both men, sadly, couldn't reside at 221B Baker Street. They now lived in a spacious flat in Waterloo, complete with a darkroom with coffins and a sound proofed room at the center of the apartment. The men never used it, considering it was designed to 'dine in' as the vampire realtor had told them, but it was the only place they could turn another vampire without going directly to Mycroft. He would find out eventually, but Sherlock and John wanted to act as independently as possible before Mycroft found out and came to meddle. "Are you prepared to do this?" John asked Sherlock, who threw him a filthy look as he shucked off his suit jacket.

"She was willing, John. We negotiated. My end of the deal was simple- deliver her to death quickly and painlessly and now I must leave her on the edge of death forever." Sherlock told him as he briskly unbuttoned his cuff and rolled back his sleeve.

"She talked with you? Wasn't afraid of you?" John asked in surprise as Sherlock sat on the side of the bed. He licked the inside of his own wrist to sterilize it, letting his silence be his answer. Then, he bit into his wrist with a grimace. Dark black blood welled up from the wound. Going by theory, not by experience, Sherlock dabbed a finger into the cut and pressed the bloodstained digit to Laura's lips. After a moment, her whole body shuddered, coming to life when she had no heartbeat. That in mind, Sherlock angled himself appropriately and pressed his wrist to her lips next. To his surprise, she turned her head away. Most transitional people, inbetween humanity and becoming a vampire, couldn't resist the scent of a vampire's blood. Sherlock's venom had mixed the remaining blood in her veins, creating a combination that only needed his blood to start the transformation. The transitional stage was uncomfortable- and transitionals, seeking comfort, drink the blood that calls to them, only to lead them to 24 hours of agony until the transformation was complete. The fact that Laura was trying to refuse was a first.

Sherlock tried pushing more insistently, but Laura just groaned, eyelids fluttering as she tried to get up. Sherlock's free hand shot out to hold her thin shoulder down. "Laura, you must," he told her, and Laura ignored him, eyes managing to stay open even though they were hazy with delirium. He held her shoulder more firmly when she tried again to push herself up with weak arms. "Please," he told her, starting to panic internally, despite his smooth voice. Why was it that when he was forced to make a vampire the participant was unwilling? He had never heard of such a thing, and it only reminded him that he had promised Laura something and was about to give her the exact opposite. He was also painfully aware that unless he complied with Moriarty's one wish, John would be killed. So would Sherlock, but he didn't care anymore. However, when it came to John's life, it was something he would not sacrifice. It was his fault that John was sentenced to an eternity with him anyway…but that was another story for another time. Laura met his gaze for a moment, her eyes swimming with confusion and uncertainty, before she brought a hand up to hold his wrist steady. Unwillingly, compelled to drink simply because Sherlock, the kind vampire, had asked her to, Laura drank.

To her surprise, the blood tasted…good. She had been horrified to drink the black goop seeping across Sherlock's pale skin, but despite it being cold, it seemed to ease the uncomfortable feeling that something was missing in her chest. Sherlock's jaw had clenched since she started drinking, but he hadn't moved away. After a minute or two, Sherlock pulled out of her grip and hastily licked his wound to seal it up. Laura shakily wiped the blood from her face, starting to feel odd. Her mind told her that she was about to become a vampire, but she refused to believe it. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said suddenly, his voice so low she almost didn't catch it. She looked at him, confused and half horrified as it truly began to sink in. He'd bitten her. Moriarty had made a point to mention that Sherlock hadn't taken all of her blood. Now, Sherlock had just made her drink his blood. The pieces came together and she felt a gasp leave her as a sharp pain drove into her stomach. It was sudden, unexpected, and the worst pain she'd ever felt in her life. She felt Sherlock stand quickly as she curled into a ball, a moan making it past her clenched teeth. "John!" Sherlock half requested, half called for him in surprise. He remembered his own change, of course, but it was still distressing for him to know that he was creating that pain in someone else.

"I know, Sherlock. She's got twenty three hours to go. If you can't handle it, you need to go." John's voice came closer, and a cool hand brushed at her forehead, forcing Laura to realize that she was starting to burn up. John's hand felt like an oasis and her body felt like a desert.

"I-," Sherlock sounded upset, torn. "This is my mistake, John. My responsibility." Footsteps paced around the room and another pain, sharper, spiked into Laura, making her gasp. Her body temperature spiked. "There is nothing we can do?" Sherlock questioned John as Laura curled into a tighter ball, gasping for air. He sounded wounded, tired.

"Nothing," John replied heavily, and the cool hand found her forehead again, even though she was in her ball, she nearly jerked back. It was John's hand- and he hadn't felt skin that hot since he'd felt Sherlock turning. They'd turned at the same time and John, even in the depths of his pain, had tried to monitor Sherlock's condition. "Ah, no, try to relax," he told Laura as she dug her fingernails so sharply into her palms she drew blood. The new release of blood had cued both men into noticing that her heartbeat had restarted, Sherlock's blood resuscitating it enough just to spread around his venom and blood to change her and kill her again. John eased her hands out of their fists and Laura winced and flinched at his cold touch. Her skin had gotten so hot that touching something as cold as John was painful. He looked up at Sherlock as Laura started to pant in tight little hisses. The detective was watching with any entirely vulnerable expression, an expression full of guilt. "Give her something else to focus on." John told him, knowing that at this point, Sherlock needed someone to tell him what to do. Sherlock instantly turned around and left, returning seconds later with his violin.

As her pain increased and the night turned to day, the three of them, two vampires, one soon to be, were sheltered in a windowless, soundproofed room that was filled with the sounds of a beautiful violin sonata.

* * *

**I know that I have no business posting another story when I already have so much work on here that isn't finished, but I also have SO MANY stories and beginnings of stories saved onto my computer that I feel like will never see the light of day (much like a vampire). I worked hard on them, so I might as well put them up, right? Right. Anyway, I hope this was satisfactory!**

**-BITCHIN**


	2. Chapter 2

There was nothing but pain.

All Laura could register was the burning spreading through her body. Once and a while she was reminded that the two vampires, Sherlock and John, were there, but that fact always disappeared from her mind as agony destroyed it. In the beginning, she'd been able to hear the most beautiful music she'd ever heard, but as the pain increased all sounds vanished, even her screams.

The agony went on and on.

It disoriented her, until she wasn't sure what was reality and what was a dream. Maybe she was dead- in hell, perhaps? She felt warm enough; she felt like she was on fire. Her mind started to offer her a delirious dream- the dark-haired man was actually the angel of death, who had sent her to hell. After a while, she imagined him with large black wings, talons, and eyes that were red instead of black. As more time passed, she realized that she was imagining something, focusing on something other than pain. In fact- the pain was decreasing. Would it go away for good? Too exhausted to try to push through her pain, Laura stayed limp. Her chest felt odd- something was missing, and shouldn't she be-?

_She wasn't breathing. _

The conscious thought, not riddled with panic like it normally would be, slammed into her head and jerked her awake with a gasp. Facts streamed in at a rapid rate as her eyes opened. She was half reclining on an unfamiliar bed. The room had slightly padded walls and was empty with the exception of the bed. John was sitting next to the bed on the floor, and Sherlock was leaning against the opposite wall, head down. Laura took a deep breath, but she didn't feel any different. She held her breath, and was horrified to find that she didn't feel any different that way either. Her hands shot up to feel her neck to feel for injury, but she felt (or, didn't feel) something else entirely. Her skin was cold, icy cold, and her hands were pale, elegant. Worse yet, there was no pulse in her neck. Letting out a shriek of surprise, Laura stumbled out of the bed, pressing herself into the far corner of the room. Through the utter horror coursing through her, she noted, confused, that John and Sherlock seemed much slower than she was when beforehand they had been much faster. "Laura, is it? Everything is fine. Don't panic," John told her, raising his hands in a 'calm down' gesture.

She had only heard him yesterday, and in the clear light of the room it was suddenly easy to get a good look at him. He wasn't very tall, but was stout with nothing but lean muscle. He had sandy blond hair, pale skin, and the same black eyes as Sherlock. He also had an absurdly handsome face- not like Sherlock's, but a face that was handsome in its own way. He was beautiful because he was compelling. For someone who she knew could be so lethal, he was dressed in a very non-threatening way- in a knitted jumper and worn jeans. To her added horror, she could _smell _him. He smelled faintly of tea and underneath the stench of the city, he smelled like pine. She could also smell something artificial on him. It didn't smell quite like blood, which she noted on Sherlock's clothes. It smelled like blood, but off somehow. Speaking of the detective, he also smelled of the city, but less so. He smelled more like hospital, and a bit like death. He smelled like _her, _she realized with a shudder. She could smell her old, human blood on him from where he had nearly drained her. The room she found herself in smelled mostly of dust- which told her that it wasn't used often. Despite that, she could smell very faint traces of old blood, and from many different sources. By the door, she could smell more of a living space- more of a natural Sherlock and John smell; she was in their house somewhere. All of her thoughts and analysis on the two vampires and the room around her passed in nearly a split second where it usually would have taken her much longer. Once she'd gotten her bearings of the room and the people in it, she realized that she felt horribly, horribly off. Something was wrong. Laura quickly looked down at herself and froze on the spot, going unnaturally still at what she saw. Even though she was still in the hospital gown she'd been wearing before, her thin, emaciated body was gone. In its place was a long, lean body that was healthy to the point of it being overly beautiful.

Her hands slowly snaked up to her face, her heart (which still wasn't beating) flying into her throat as her face didn't feel the same to her fingertips either. Her features were still in place, but they were smoother, fuller. The boniness had gone, the hollowed cheeks vanished. Laura suddenly felt very dizzy- what was going on? What had happened to her? _Why? _"Laura, my name is John Watson, and this is my friend, Sherlock Holmes. We won't hurt you," John reassured her, and she felt herself shiver back into awareness, her hands clenching to fists.

"I remember you just fine. I want to know what's happened to me- _what did you do to me?" _The words flew out of Laura's mouth before she could barely think about speaking them, and the sound of her voice made her heart fly into her throat again. That was different too! It wasn't completely changed, but her voice was smoother, gentle even when she was demanding answers. The dizzy feeling returned, along with hysteria. Every aspect of her that had made Laura who she was had disappeared. Her brain told her that she was still the same person, but everything else had changed- and even her brain had changed. She was thinking faster, talking faster. It was frightening.

"Sherlock had no choice but to turn you into a vampire." John told her quietly, glancing briefly at the vampire in question. Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot by the wall very much- he was only standing upright now instead of leaning against it. His eyes were on her face, expression masked.

"And why was that? I was dying- I was supposed to die!" Laura insisted, a note of her fear stealing through her voice. For the first time, she saw guilt flash in Sherlock's usually expressionless eyes.

"Had I not been interrupted, I would have given you your wish, and for that, I am truly sorry." He told her in a voice quieter than John's had been, and yet she heard him perfectly. She shook her head, half to disagree with him and half to check her hearing. If what he was saying was true, that he had turned her into a monster. It explained the changes, the sharper senses, but it couldn't be true, it just couldn't.

"You-you made me into, into what?!" Laura pressed her fingers to her upper lip and jerked away in shock when she could easily feel an elongated canine tooth underneath her skin. She had fangs now- _fangs. _"How could you let this happen? I trusted you!" Laura yelled at Sherlock, and he actually looked away from her furious and hurt gaze.

"Laura, listen. Sherlock was on another vampire's territory, which is dangerous. To make matters worse, he started to feed from you- which is illegal. Breaking the law temporarily put himself as well as me in line to be subjected to the vampire on which we were intruding, Moriarty. Normally, vampires can kill or can order the death of an intruder feeding on their property. Moriarty offered Sherlock another option, however, and that was to turn you." John explained hastily. Not to be reassured, Laura felt her anger swell again.

"What were you even doing, then, trespassing, if you knew it was dangerous? Why would you even bother to mess with me? Why didn't you just leave me alone?!" Laura yelled at Sherlock, taking a threatening step forward. Before she knew it, a growl escaped from around her teeth, which she'd suddenly bared to show fangs. As soon as she'd displayed such aggression, it died at the hand of her revulsion. She had _snarled _at someone, growled as if she was more animal than human. "Oh god," she whispered, sliding down the wall to slump in the corner, covering her mouth with her hand, as if to hide the fact that she'd ever snarled or had fangs in the first place.

"Moriarty is a vampire as old as John and I. He was my enemy then and he remains to be so. His plans threaten all of humanity now that he is immortal, and I needed information on his plans. I never intended to bother you- I was merely passing through when you heard me." Sherlock spoke very quietly into Laura's horrified silence.

"Moriarty…James Moriarty. The mathematician from the 1800's- he was your enemy?" Laura whispered, hugging her knees and hiding her face. She had learned about the famous detective, his colleague, and their nemesis briefly in school, but over the years the feats of the great Sherlock Holmes had dissolved into myths and legends. She had no idea that the feuds between the two masterminds were actually real. "How did he become a-a vampire? How did you two become vampires?" Laura continued, and she heard Sherlock and John look at each other.

"To begin with, Moriarty was turned because I tried to kill him. If you've heard of him you've heard of _The Reichenbach Falls _and, according to history, James Moriarty died there. In reality, a vampire who had been watching the struggle between Moriarty and I for a long time intervened to save his life, believing that one so intelligent should have the gift of immortal life. This same vampire sought me out once they had 'saved' Moriarty, and found me at home with John and my brother, Mycroft. She saw intelligence in my brother and John as well, so she turned the three of us to protect that gift." Sherlock summarized in a clipped tone.

Too overwhelmed to reply, Laura simply placed her head on her knees, desperately trying to not breathe or think. When she breathed in, she smelled _everything. _When she thought about anything at all, her mind was suddenly faster, reaching the horrifying conclusions she was faced with now at a much faster rate than what was normal. The one conclusion that stood out the most made her lurch, made the place where her heart was ache. She could remember the slow feeling of drifting away, the warm, gentle embrace of death taking her off to a world free of pain. She had been going down that path, to happiness. She had felt herself give up to oblivion, only for these two men to drag her back.

Laura felt the horrible urge to cry, but no tears came. Despite her will, she felt and smelt John coming over, squatting lightly in front of her. "We are here to help you- we'll make sure that nothing will hurt you." His voice was low, quiet, reassuring as much as it was protective. It was supposed to help her, but it only sparked her fury.

"What should I care of being hurt? I wanted to _die!" _She yelled the word at him, feeling her fangs poking at her lip, starting to slide out and become exposed in her anger. "All I wanted was to be at peace, to move on- _I was going to be free!" _She practically screamed the words into a sob as she curled into a tighter ball. As John crouched closer, she could feel the pity radiating off of him. It was clingy; she felt like she was drowning in it and that her grief was the undertow, pulling her down, down, down. It became too much, _too much_, and then she was bolting for the door, wrenching it open before Sherlock or John could even react.

Three steps out, she felt something burning on her skin, a burn so hot and strong that she shrieked, automatically skidding backwards, back into the room she'd just left. Arms immediately encircled her, pulled her back farther, and the door was hastily shut. Laura was dimly aware that she was shaking, terrified and sad all at once as John approached her. He was saying something to Sherlock as he did so, something along the lines of 'the curtains'.

"I was a bit preoccupied when we returned yesterday," Sherlock said above her, venom in his tone. John very gently touched her left cheek, a spot where she still felt burned; the area seemed to pulse with the heat and agony she'd felt not too long ago during her transformation. She cried out from pain at John's touch and tried to pull away, whirling in Sherlock's grip and burying her face into his chest, hiding the burn. To Sherlock's surprise, he felt a strong need to calm Laura, to keep her safe. The fact that she had a light-burn already, a painful injury for any vampire to have, made him feel like a failed parent. It was his responsibility to protect her now- he had shared his blood with her. Laura was like his child, and even though he was aware that caring was not an advantage, he felt the bond form between them. He knew that it was exactly what Moriarty wanted, and that being a sire would weaken him, but in a strange, irrational moment, Sherlock found that he didn't care. He could remember what he had felt like when he had discovered what he had become. His sorrow, his fright at the fact that his whole world had changed forever, had almost been enough to shut his Mind Palace down permanently. If it hadn't been for John and Mycroft, who had also been in the same predicament, he surely would have found a way to kill himself. Those memories still haunted Sherlock, and he didn't want that type of burden to fall on Laura- she was already forced into being an immortal. "Shhh," he found himself whispering, stroking her hair and tightening his grip protectively.

John sent him a somewhat surprised look over his shoulder as he went to a small control panel by the door. After pushing a few buttons, all the curtains in their home closed, plunging the place into darkness. Usually, the state of the curtains didn't matter- John and Sherlock were fast asleep during the day in a windowless darkroom. Some vampires left the curtains open on purpose as a security measure. It was only by chance and bad luck that Laura had been burned, and Sherlock's reaction to that surprised John more than he could say. Moriarty's deviousness was obvious now. Forcing Sherlock to be a sire exposed him to the emotional bond formed by sharing blood when the detective avoided emotion at all costs. Even if Sherlock could remain his usual, calculating self while raising a vampire, Laura could still be used against him, especially because she would be vulnerable for a long time.

"It's alright," Sherlock said softly as Laura's shaking started to die down. "The light is gone now, but you were burned. We need to take a look at it." He tried to be as persuasive as possible without coming off as pushy and insensitive. If they got her fresh blood fast enough, she might not scar as badly as she would without it. However, the fact that she was a newborn, with accelerated abilities meant that she had probably already started to heal. After a long pause, Laura pulled away from him, dabbing at her eyes, avoiding his gaze. On her left cheekbone, much to Sherlock's dismay, was a light-scar; she'd healed already. Glossy white and pale, even paler than her skin, the burn curved up her cheekbone and then melded back into her skin. Now that it had scarred over, it would never heal.

"Laura, John and I aren't going to hurt you. You know that, correct?" Sherlock said quietly, still inspecting the scar with a pang of sadness. Laura swiped at the scar viciously, still not meeting his gaze.

"Of course you wouldn't; you've already done your worst." She said softly, bitterly. It made her feel the tiniest bit guilty when Sherlock flinched at her words, but she didn't want to feel sorry for him, not after what he'd done.

"Let's just get you something to eat and then let you rest," John said authoritatively, coughing into his fist in an attempt to dispel the awkwardness. Laura turned to look at him, eyes flashing.

"Haven't you already asked enough from me? I won't drink blood- once was enough, thanks," she practically spat, stepping around him and heading for the door.

"You can't go out there," Sherlock said before she could touch the handle, hiding his useless sentiments at being a sire and already failing at protecting his kin behind his usual empty façade.

"Why?" Because you say I can't?" Laura said viciously, turning to glare at him.

"No, because once you leave this apartment, you will not be protected from others or yourself. Any passing vampire would challenge you because you are so new, the sun would hurt you, and even if you covered yourself to hide from the sun, the first innocent human you come across would become your first victim. I understand that you resent me and will continue to do so, but I am your sire. You are my responsibility now, and I will take care of you." Sherlock told her flatly. They stared at each other for several seconds.

"Let me get something for us to eat," John said quietly, slipping out and leaving the door cracked. The new scents available beyond the door made Laura twitch slightly- she could smell humans now, and the smell made her unexpectedly nauseous. She didn't want to drink blood, and she didn't want to kill people. She looked away from Sherlock instead, walking over to the bed and sitting down, hiding her new face behind her new hands. The shock of her situation was wearing off, and a grim reality was taking its place around her shoulders. She was a vampire now. She had died but wasn't dead, and the last person she had ever trusted turned her into the very last thing she wanted. Despite that betrayal, she couldn't deny that she still trusted him, no matter how much she hated herself for it. For some reason, his speech that would normally be creepy and controlling had only calmed her down. Hearing that someone was responsible for her and that they would care for her eased the panic in her heart.

"Why did you stop? If you were in Moriarty Hospital for information, why did you stop when I called out to you? Why didn't you just ignore me and go?" Laura asked, voice tinged with grief. The scar under her fingertips felt smooth and unnatural, and every breath she took felt forced and stiff.

"Because for all of this 'power'," Sherlock scoffed the word, sounding disgusted with himself, "I am still weak."

Laura looked up, surprised by Sherlock's answer, but by the time she had processed what he had said, John had returned, packets of blood in hand. Since vampires had come into the public eye, had abided by laws and had contributed to society, blood banks reserved just for vampires had turned into a booming business. Because blood was blood to them, and bloodborne infections and diseases had no effect on vampires at all, _anyone _could sell their blood to distributors. Shopping for blood became just like shopping for meat at a supermarket- low quality blood was cheap, and pure, rich blood came at a high price. Fortunately, John and Sherlock were well off, after having one hundred and ninety years to establish themselves. Lower quality blood wasn't bad, per se, but it did have a different flavor. John and Sherlock weren't picky eaters (Sherlock had dined on Laura's leukemia ridden blood, after all), but they did tend to get cleaner, medical grade blood.

Packets of blood for vampires came in specialized, heated pouches that attempted to keep blood as close to a normal human body temperature as possible. It was still smelled and tasted off from drinking live blood, but it was a close substitute that many vampires depended on. Equivalent to a college student's diet of ramen and alcohol, blood packets filled you up, but they rarely ever satisfied. "Here," John said, handing her one of the packets. She took it with hesitation, flinching a bit as the blood gushed around the packet when she gripped it. Despite how disgusting it felt to hold, it also felt strangely good in a way. The heat coming from the packet felt good on her cold skin until she wanted to cuddle it like a hot water bottle instead of drinking from it. She didn't realize how long she'd been staring down at it until John spoke. "You need to drink, Laura." He told her, slightly concerned with her lack of appetite. Newly created vampires were often insatiable with thirst to a point where they were wild and uncontrollable. Laura was so docile and uninterested in the blood that the doctor in him felt a pang of worry. Neither he nor Sherlock had ever turned a vampire, and for all of their years, they had no experience in dealing with a newborn they were responsible for.

Laura glanced at John, stomach twisting at the idea of drinking something as warm and thick as blood. She glanced back at the packet in her hands before taking off the convenient cap on it. With the cap off, the odor of the blood got stronger, and she felt bile rise up in her throat at the smell. Taking a deep breath, Laura gathered her courage and took a sip. She gagged instantly in response, and barely had time to get the cap on the packet before she dropped it, even with her insanely fast reflexes. "I can't," she muttered into the back of her hand as she wiped the blood off of her lips. She didn't miss the look John and Sherlock shared, but it didn't make sense to her.

"Okay, that's fine. You don't have to drink it now," John said, hastily chugging down the rest of his packet. Sherlock, however, was still quite full from draining Laura to the point of death, and appeared uninterested in his packet. "Come on; let's get you a place to sleep. If you don't sleep during the day, you'll be dead on your feet come nighttime."

"Is that your idea of a joke?" Laura asked incredulously, not moving an inch. John looked at her briefly, confused, before he understood and chuckled weakly at the pun.

"No, I'm sorry. It's just an expression. Vampires use idioms too, you know." He said lightly, to which Laura just stared at him as she slid off the bed. John crossed to the door and opened it, disappearing into the house.

"It is perfectly safe. The curtains are closed and won't let in any light." Sherlock spoke flatly, seeing her hesitation, and Laura glanced at him. He was still turning his blood packet over and over in his hands, refusing to look at her. All of a sudden, she felt a pang of bravery, and all of the thoughts she'd had about Sherlock saying he was weak poured out of her.

"Your intent to give me peace wasn't weak. Neither was your kindness. Thinking yourself disgusting because you wanted to help someone _is_ a weakness." She said lowly, refusing to look at him as well, before walking out of the door, intent on finding John. Laura was surprised at how easily she could see in their darkened home as she put some distance between her words and Sherlock. She looked around her, noting quite a bit of clutter and scientific equipment as she followed John's scent. She found him in what was clearly a guest bedroom. It had no windows, and the door fit the wall perfectly, leaving no cracks for light to get through. Other than that, it was a completely normal guest bedroom, complete with slightly tacky wallpaper, a queen bed, and a slightly shabby dresser. John had already made up the bed and was just putting a pillowcase on the pillow when Laura stepped inside curiously.

"See? No coffins or cobwebs." John said kindly, fluffing the pillow before placing it at the head of the bed. "If you feel sick at all during the day, come and find Sherlock or I and we'll get you something to eat. Do you need anything else?" He asked, and Laura looked blankly at him for a moment.

"I don't think so." She said at last, and John offered her a gentle smile, slipping out the door. For a moment, she only stared at the spot that he'd occupied, half of her mind tracking the sound of Sherlock finally leaving the room she'd transformed in. She didn't have the courage to face him just yet after what she'd blurted out, so she slowly closed the door to the guest bedroom and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling in front of her.

Once the horror, confusion and fear started to dissipate, she found herself drifting off.


	3. Chapter 3

When Laura woke again, she was briefly disoriented of dreams of an angel of death. As she blinked away the last bits of her drowsiness, her new reality came back, and she quickly sat up. Even though the guest bedroom was completely dark, she could see perfectly. She could hear movement in the apartment, and the occasional voice. To her surprise and distress, she could feel that she was hungry, but every thought of the blood packet and the disgusting, thick blood that had filled her mouth made her nauseous. She felt weaker, almost the same as when she'd first been admitted to the hospital for her leukemia; Laura felt shaky, and dizzy. For a moment, she stayed upright in bed, trying to get used to cataloging and sensing so many things at once before John's words came back to her. He'd said that if she needed anything or felt sick that she should go and find them.

To her dismay, she felt a slight, anxious need to know where Sherlock was above her need for food. She would be happy if she never saw the man again, and yet she couldn't help but worry about him. He had said that he was her sire, and that he was her protector, and she'd initially scoffed at the idea. But now? Now she needed to see him, even though she could smell him in the living area of the apartment. Sliding off the bed, Laura took a deeper breath in when she detected John's scent. It was fresher than she would have expected, and after a moment she noticed that the dresser had been used while she was asleep. Curious, she went over to it and pulled open one of the drawers to find clothing. In the time that she'd been asleep, Sherlock had gotten her clothes (she could smell it now that the drawer was open) and John had come and put them in her room.

Suddenly embarrassed by the fact that she was still wearing a hospital gown that reeked of death and blood, she changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater, and then stepped out of the guest bedroom cautiously. The apartment was her new home, and yet she felt like she was at a police station or in a principal's office. Laura found her way to the kitchen, where John was putting away blood packets into what looked like a small oven. Sherlock was seated in the living area, eyes hidden by his microscope. "Hey, I see you found the- Laura, are you alright?" John cut himself off halfway through his train of thought. To him, Laura looked as sick as she had before her transformation, which was not a good sign. Sherlock's head snapped up from his microscope at his remark as Laura shrugged at John, sliding onto one of the barstools that were clustered around the kitchen island. Being in Sherlock's presence and seeing her sire had helped her to relax somewhat, but she still felt dizzy.

"I-I'm hungry, but every time I think about blood, I-," Laura stopped talking, shaking her head at the very idea of drinking blood.

"Sherlock and I thought about that while you were asleep. The blood we gave you wasn't bad, but it wasn't super either. We thought that maybe if you tried something a bit more pure you'd like it better." John explained, opening the oven again and picking out, to her great surprise, a normal looking thermos. He set it down on the island within her reach, but didn't push it on her, much to her relief. "Some vampires are picky eaters," John added as she hesitantly reached for it. Laura unscrewed the cap, holding her breath when the stench hit her. Before she could stop it, she instantly compared the scent to that of menstrual blood and she nearly pressed a hand to her mouth to fight down her gag reflex. Despite her obvious aversion to it, she knew that she had to try. Building up her nerve, she quickly pinched her nose and took a sip, hastily setting the thermos back down as far away from her as possible. As soon as the blood went down she couldn't stop herself from clamping a hand over her mouth, convinced that she was about to upchuck all over the kitchen island. John hastily capped the thermos and put it back into the oven, shooting Sherlock the same look she'd seen before.

"What's wrong with me? Vampires are supposed to drink blood and I can't do it; I can see that look on your face." She blurted out, wiping her lips clean with the back of her hand. John threw Sherlock another meaningful look before her sire sighed, getting up and coming into the kitchen.

"It happens very rarely, but when the victim of a vampire bite is so against the idea of the transformation they sometimes alter the process. They are still by definition a vampire; they were dead and were reborn, but they cannot find sustenance in human blood." Sherlock explained dully, leaning against the cabinets and looking at the floor instead of at her.

"So am I going to die?" Laura asked, trying to decide if she was pleased or horrified by this development. Dying would give her what she'd wanted all along, but she couldn't imagine dying peacefully as a vampire, not after all the pain she'd been through to become one.

"No, no; you won't starve to death. There are alternatives that these vampires, the _Hambre_, use to eat. Some prefer animal blood, and some even can use normal, human foods." John was quick to reassure her, and Laura tried to squash her brief disappointment. John opened the oven again and came back with a different thermos. Laura stared at it for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that she was already a defective vampire before she unscrewed the cap. The animal blood inside had a different odor, one that smelled literally like dead and decaying animals.

"No; I can't." Laura didn't even bother trying to drink from it- she simply screwed the cap back on and was grateful when John put it back.

"Well, that just leaves human food. I hope pizza is okay; I haven't had to shop for human food in a long time." John said apologetically, going over to a small refrigerator she hadn't even noticed, pulling out a Tupperware container full of cold pizza. She opened it cautiously, still prepared for disgusting smells. To her delight, the smell of tomatoes and mozzarella nearly made her close her eyes in relief. Slightly intimidated by the half curious, half jealous gazes of Sherlock and John, she took a bite, chewed, swallowed. "Good?" John asked almost suspiciously as she took another bite, relaxing as her cramping stomach started to get the food it desperately wanted.

"Yes, thank god," Laura replied, half under her breath as she polished off the slice and reached for another. "Why are they called the _Hambre?" _She asked after eating her fill in uncomfortable silence. Sherlock let out an angry sounding snort, which John ignored, shooting her a kind smile.

"Vampires that can't drink human blood are called _Hambre _because you don't feel the lust for blood that Sherlock and I do; all you feel is normal, human hunger. A newborn vampire like you should be angry and ferocious in its quest for blood, but you are just very, very hungry. _Hambre _vampires are different than the general kind." John ended with a glare at Sherlock as her sire started to pace angrily across the kitchen, expression as dark as a thundercloud.

"Don't sugar-coat it, John. _Hambre _are seen as weak, as a mar upon the race of vampires. They and their sires are perceived as cripples and failures." Sherlock snapped, voice low and harsh.

"Oh, so sorry that I make you look like a failure; that must be such a hardship for you. How selfish I've been, being upset about how I was _murdered." _The words poured out of Laura before she could stop them as some of that ferocious anger John mentioned suddenly filled her up until she was shaking with the force of it.

"That is not what I meant; only that you will be seen as an easy target." Sherlock said almost absentmindedly as he continued to pace. His complete disregard for Laura made her so angry that she punched the granite counter of the kitchen island with all of her strength in a rash, furious motion. She ended up punching right through it and through the plywood beneath. The horrid screech her skin made against the stone was enough to stop Sherlock in his tracks.

"Don't talk about me like that! I'm not some sort of-of disobedient pet or lost suitcase; I can't _believe _you are choosing to focus on how much of a bloody inconvenience I'll be to you instead of the fact that I'm still a person." Laura had wanted each word to be angry and malicious, but she only sounded sad. Her rage had died once she'd ruined their kitchen island, and her hand and knuckles were throbbing a bit from her moment of rage. She felt the horrible urge to cry, and probably would have been if she wasn't a vampire. Without another word, she turned and walked shakily back to the guest bedroom, closing the door behind her. Laura curled back up onto the bed, holding her aching fist in her free hand. After a moment, she sensed Sherlock leaving the apartment- it must have been nighttime again. John respected her privacy for a few minutes before knocking and entering.

"Laura, I know that your hand hurts. If you come back to the kitchen, I can make it better." He offered, and then left, leaving the door ajar. Only when Laura was sure that her expression would be flat did she go back out to the living area. The sight of the wrecked kitchen island made her wince a bit; she'd never lost her temper like that, and the sight of it was yet another reminder that her humanity was gone. John was doing something on a small gas range, and once he moved out of the way, Laura was delighted to see that he had a small kettle on to boil. He dug around the kitchen, and a few minutes later he was presenting her with a plate of biscuits and a mug of earl grey tea. He watched her with a sad expression as she soaked one of the biscuits in the tea before biting into it.

"Don't pity me; it only makes it worse." She managed after a full minute of John's morose expression. To her surprise, he shook his head vehemently.

"I don't- well, no. I do pity you; I won't lie about that. I'm just reminiscing. I miss tea and biscuits." He said wistfully, and Laura instantly felt a pang of regret. John had shown her nothing but kindness, and she had treated him horribly for it. To be fair, she was not even a day into her new, terrifying life, but that didn't mean that John deserved to be treated like shit. If anyone deserved that, it was Sherlock or even the mysterious Moriarty.

"I'm sorry," she apologized after a minute, once again wishing she could cry to vent off some steam.

"Don't be. You have every right to be like this. I thought Sherlock had finally stopped being reckless, but I guess not." John sighed, sitting on the other side of the kitchen island, avoiding the hole. "Can I see your hand?" he requested, and Laura extended it, surprised to see a black bruise forming on her now glaringly white skin. As John gently looked it over, she realized that he'd known her new sire for a long, _long _time, and that she trusted him enough to ask questions.

"You've known Sherlock for so long," She started, taking a sip of tea to hide her face as John glanced up at her. As she set the mug back down, she felt her words evaporate; she had no idea what to ask, or where to start. John let out a rueful chuckle, letting go of her hand.

"I really have. And yes, he's always been an insufferable bastard. His mind was built like a machine; so was his brother's. They've always gotten along poorly with other people. Mycroft is just a cold-hearted snob, and he keeps his emotions in check to continue to be the most brilliant and ruthless politician the world has ever known. Sherlock, on the other hand, has the opposite problem- he cares too much. He's got a heart bigger than mine, if you can believe it. Every time he's let that heart feel, it's gotten him in trouble and caused him pain, and so he acts just like his brother to try and keep himself safe. He claims that emotions just clog up his Mind Palace, but he's full of shit." John said with a hint of affection, tracing the hole Laura had made in the countertop. Laura considered what John had said for a moment, flexing her sore fist.

She couldn't believe it, but she was starting to sympathize with Sherlock. She could tell that he hadn't been lying when he said that he hadn't had any intentions on using her when he got to Moriarty Hospital, and she had seen the kindness in him that had offered her a quick, painless death. The truest comfort she'd felt in the past 24 hours, even with John being so kind to her, had come in Sherlock's arms after she'd been burned by the sun. Laura even understood John when he said that Sherlock hid his heart; he'd admitted it openly to her, and she'd somehow been brave enough to comment on it. The only thing she didn't get was why Sherlock had been so concerned with the fact that she was _Hambre. _A man with a big heart and an intelligent mind like Sherlock Holmes would have his reasons for being so upset, reasons she didn't understand.

"John…why was Sherlock so mad that I'm different?" She asked softly, slowly breaking a biscuit in two to avoid look at John. She felt absurdly like an unloved child that had been put off by an indifferent parent, and that she was now spilling every worried thought in her head to some other guardian.

"He's not mad at you." John said after a moment to gather his thoughts. "Really, he's not." He added, sensing that Laura didn't agree with him. "He's mad at himself for having to turn you. He's mad that he was careless enough to cause so much suffering in a person. If you were a 'normal' vampire, one that hadn't resisted the change so strongly, he might not feel completely overwhelmed by his guilt, but you aren't. Knowing that he utterly betrayed you is something he can barely live with." John gripped the edges of the bent granite in the hole and gave a brief, hard tug, managing to bend it back in the right direction. "He's also very scared, even though he won't admit it. I'm a bit scared myself." John added, pushing on the granite next to smooth it out the best he could. Each action was effortless, as if John was folding a newspaper instead of fixing granite with his bare hands.

"Why? You're both old and experienced and strong." Laura blurted out, and John grimaced.

"Well, there's a couple of reasons. I've never sired a vampire and until now, neither had Sherlock. Being a sire, as I'm sure you've noticed, is kind of like being a parent, and if you aren't ready for that kind of thing it can start off messy." John started, giving the granite one last push. It wasn't completely smooth, but there was no longer a gaping hole. "Also, as Sherlock failed to explain, vampiric society is very…political. There are a lot of social rules, and the older the vampire, the more judgment he seems to dole out to others. Sherlock has just made a very powerful enemy out of Moriarty, and everyone will know by now that he broke in to his property. The smarter, more powerful ones will know that he was forced to sire; Moriarty will have passed that information around to his allies."

"So he's afraid that someone is going to come and pick him off now because they think he's weak for siring an _Hambre?" _Laura asked, and John shook his head.

"No, Sherlock is afraid they will come to pick _you _off. A vampire can gain popularity and social power by killing a vampire's children. As a sire, he feels duty bound to protect you, and the idea that other people see you as an easy target makes him worry. He could care less that people will see him as a 'bad parent' because you have a light scar and are _Hambre._" John corrected firmly, and Laura took a sip of tea, pressing her bruised knuckles against the hot porcelain, relishing the heat.

"If I'm such an easy target, why bother protecting me?" Laura asked, and John twitched, as if hurt by her words.

"Laura, I am not your sire, but trust me when I say that you are worth protecting and that you are _not _an easy target. Vampires only get stronger with age, and yet you managed to punch through solid granite at not even a day old. Just because you are 'vegan' compared to an 'omnivore' doesn't make you weak." John said quietly, reaching across the island to grasp her free hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Despite the pity he still obviously felt for her, Laura felt a rush of gratefulness. She could tell that John had such a gentle nature that he couldn't help but pity her, but now she didn't mind it as much. If he hadn't been nice enough to answer all of her questions and explain her situation to her, she would be completely alone. John wasn't even compelled to protect her like Sherlock was, he wasn't her sire, and yet he still obviously cared.

"Thank you," She whispered, squeezing his hand back. Before he could reply, the door opened and Sherlock appeared at the top of the steps, looking irritated. Laura hastily let go of John as a vampire appeared behind him, expression smug. He was almost as tall as Sherlock, with gingery hair and a hawk-like nose. His black eyes and speed gave him away as a vampire, and she could tell by scent that this was Mycroft, Sherlock's brother. In an instant, thanks to John's advice, she knew why he was here. If Sherlock felt unsure of her safety, he would enlist the help of other, powerful vampires. Sherlock shed his coat in tight, angry movements and threw it on the nearest couch, telling her that he hated his brother quite a bit; he wouldn't even look at Mycroft as the vampire stepped in, removing his coat calmly and hanging it up.

Sherlock leaned against the cabinets once more, but kept his eyes fixed on his brother instead of the floor in a challenging stare. Every inch of his body language was a warning to his sibling, which Laura noted with increasing apprehension. Did Sherlock expect Mycroft to be a threat? "Laura, is it? My name is Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft introduced himself smugly, offering a hand for her to shake. As soon as she shook his hand, he twisted their grips so that he could examine her knuckles. "Hmm," he noted, his eyes traveling from the black bruise to the fixed granite. He took in the tea and biscuits with a displeased frown, as if the presence of human food made him as sick as blood made Laura.

"Nice to meet you," Laura managed, pulling out of his grip, already uncomfortable. She turned to face John again and Mycroft let out a disappointed sigh. Seconds later, a cold hand was suddenly gripping her chin, making her gasp, but Mycroft's grip was firm.

"Really, Sherlock? Less than twenty four hours in to being a sire and your child is already _Hambre, _bruised, and bears a light scar?" Mycroft noted loftily, increasing his grip when Laura went to pull away.

"Let go of her, Mycroft." The voice that came out of Sherlock was so cold and furious that Mycroft let go more out of surprise than anything else, and Laura turned to look at Sherlock with equal surprise once freed. Her sire appeared to be literally bristling, as if he was holding himself back from attacking Mycroft.

"And the bond is strong; of _course _it is," Mycroft drawled, pulling out a bar stool and sitting next to Laura, utterly indifferent to her now that he'd met her. She wasn't his to be concerned of, and was now just another mess of Sherlock's to clean up.

"I did not invite you into my home to threaten my child and antagonize me. It is bad enough that I require your help; do not make this more repugnant than it has to be." Sherlock said through clenched teeth. Mycroft briefly raised his hands in mock surrender, ignoring the dirty look John sent him.

"Only my most trusted children know that you are now a sire, and will keep the information secret for as long as possible. It appears that Moriarty has only told his own children, with orders not to share the news until he deems it the best moment for his plans. I will have your apartment put under surveillance, and I will monitor Moriarty's children and associates. If any plans form, I will inform you at once." Mycroft said, tone now very serious. "While you still have time, I suggest that you train her in our ways and prepare her for the road that lies ahead. If she is smart, dangerous and loyal, Moriarty will have a harder time picking the both of you off, and public opinion of your child will be much higher." Mycroft continued, turning to analyze Laura with an intense stare. For some odd reason, Laura felt a rush of defiance, and she turned to meet Mycroft's stare with a hard look of her own. After a minute of staring each other down, Mycroft looked away first, face utterly indifferent.

"Does Agrippa know?" John asked, and Sherlock made a noise that sounded like a hiss.

"Agrippa has not contacted me, and if she has not contacted you then she is waiting for you to make the first, appropriate move, Sherlock. You did not ask her permission to become a sire, but if you can win her favor your child will be much more protected. If you manage not to screw this up, as you have everything else, you will have much better chances at defeating Moriarty." Mycroft said loftily, and Sherlock let out a growl, turning to pace, tugging a hand through his curls in frustration. "And you," Mycroft continued, turning to look at Laura. "You know nothing of the world you have been reborn into, and if you want to live to attempt to understand it, you will do as your sire and John say. You could very well destroy my brother with your ignorance and stupidity if you do not police yourself." Mycroft said threateningly, looking pointedly at the patched granite.

"Get out. I won't have you talking to her that way." Sherlock had moved so fast it looked as if he had teleported to the door. He opened it wide in an impatient, angry gesture. For a moment, Mycroft looked at him with a type of bombastic disappointment before he stood, donned his coat, and left. Sherlock slammed the door behind him and resumed his pacing. Laura watched him with wary curiosity. He had rushed to her defense twice, and wholeheartedly, which was a complete turn-around from his comments earlier.

"You should finish those biscuits, Laura. They'll help the bruise fade; the more you eat, the quicker you'll heal." John said quietly, and Laura nibbled on the edge of one to satisfy him more than to heal herself. Her mind was buzzing with questions and concerns thanks to the conversation with Mycroft, and she had more pressing concerns than her bruised knuckles. "For god's sake, Sherlock," John interjected after Sherlock had been pacing in silence for a few more minutes, "if you don't pull yourself together and explain what just happened and what will be happening to your child you'll kill us all." John's voice was unexpectedly harsh, and it pulled Sherlock out of his pacing. With one final tug more on his curls, Sherlock stopped and pulled up a barstool next to John and sat down across from Laura.

"I am sure that John has answered quite a few of your questions already, and I am sorry that I was not here to answer them myself. I will be as patient as I am capable of; ask any questions you have." Sherlock said in what sounded to Laura like a forced calm. Taken aback by his openness, it took Laura a moment to decide which question she wanted to have answered first.

"Who is Agrippa?" she asked, and Sherlock's face morphed into a scowl.


End file.
